Reveille
by flootzavut
Summary: "Lots of people fail to kill her on a daily basis. It's not something she feels obliged to reward." Reveille tag. Kate ends up chez Gibbs and the incident with Ari is Gibbs' Reveille. H/C, romangst. Kibbs!


**_REVEILLE_**

* * *

 _KATE_

She's not quite sure how she ended up here. Oh, she knows the basic details - Gibbs offered her a lift home, and when she said she didn't want to go home he shrugged and offered her a lift wherever she _did_ want to go.

By some mutual, tacit consent, though, that ended up being his house, and that is... considerably more mysterious.

He's been cranky since last week, cranky and tired and unusually snappish - even by his standards. She'd wondered idly if someone had been pissing in his coffee, or if maybe there was something bad going on between him and his redhead - whoever the redhead is to him.

The real explanation would never have occurred to her in a million years. She now knows that his exhaustion and irritability both before she went missing and after she reappeared were at least in part due to his dream, and she still can't quite get over the fact he dreamed about her. That, in fact, the recurring nightmare keeping him in a foul mood for almost the last fortnight was of her death.

How Abby got that information out of him she's not sure - not even certain she wants to know.

Kate confronted him, surprised and confused, expecting there to be another, more likely, more sensible, more Gibbs-compliant explanation, and he just coloured slightly, shrugged, and turned away. So there's that.

And now she's sitting on his back porch drinking his beer and she can _feel_ him hovering behind her, watching her. Apparently not quite ready to come sit down or drink with her or talk to her, but also apparently unable to let her out of his sight.

She can't decide whether she should be touched or annoyed.

"Trying to stare me to death, Gibbs?"

She doesn't really expect a response, and doesn't get one. Just quiet footsteps and his feet appearing next to her on the stoop.

She looks up, but he's glaring out over the darkening garden, out at nowhere. From down here, the angle makes him look unnaturally tall and she can see right up his nose. It's way too much detail, and she decides to look down at her bottle instead, tugging at the edge of the label where the condensation is winning its battle against the glue.

If there was something she could say to stop him brooding ridiculously, she's sure she would've come up with it by now. She's been searching for it for hours, ever since her arrival back at the Navy Yard. A magic sentence to make him sit down, crack a beer, and stop doing the thousand mile stare thing.

Or, since this is Gibbs after all, and words aren't exactly his thing, something she could _do_ to jolt him out of this mood. But she can't think of that, either.

Instead she sits and he stands and she has no idea what to make of it.

Eventually he breaks the silence with a deep in breath that sounds like it's the prelude to something important, and she steels herself for whatever's coming.

"We almost lost you today, Kate."

 _Really, Gibbs? Really?_ She would never have expected him to go for a big, melodramatic statement. She shrugs a shoulder. "He wasn't going to kill me."

"You don't know that!"

She's not at all used to him using a tone of voice that sounds like it needs an exclamation point, and it jerks her head up to look at him again.

His face is white and angry and she shrinks down into herself.

She wants to point out that, while Ari Haswari is undoubtedly a scumbag of the highest order in many ways, he does appear to be loyal to his country, at least. She wants to remind Gibbs that Ari had her at his mercy for hours today, and all she has to show for it is a busted lip from one of his grunts. She wants to say she was in considerably more danger from Marta than she ever was from Ari.

But Gibbs' anger isn't rational or easily placated, and while she hasn't yet figured out exactly where she fits into the whole peculiar Gibbs-Ari-anger equation, she doesn't want to land herself on the anger side of it after the day she's had.

Defending Ari would be detrimental to her self-preservation, and besides, the simple fact he didn't kill her hasn't exactly made Ari _her_ favourite person, either. After all, lots of people fail to kill her on a daily basis. It isn't something she feels obliged to reward.

Gibbs heaves a sigh and sits heavily beside her, elbows on his knees, hands loose and helpless. She risks another glance in his direction and is disturbed to see that his head is bowed and he looks - old.

Old and tired and worn out.

It suddenly makes her want to apologise for making him worry, which is stupid on many counts but first and most importantly because he hates apologies, and secondly in no small part because she's not entirely certain whether he was exactly _worried_ about _her_. Worry isn't a natural emotion on him, and she's still bemused by the dream thing and taken aback by how angry-yet-solicitous Gibbs has been since she was returned safe and almost sound. She really doesn't know what to think or how to feel about any of it, and she doesn't dare even try to put words around whatever might be going on in _his_ head.

She is aching and frustrated and almost wants to pick a fight just to get rid of the tension that's still lingering in her muscles. She's angry, mostly with herself, and mostly about things that aren't really her fault. About how Ari somehow managed to play her so easily. About seeing a woman shot to death without a flicker of emotion or regret in those eyes she'd insistently called kind. About her team fearing for her life.

About the quickly hidden expression of intense relief on Gibbs' face when he saw her alive and more or less unharmed.

Involuntarily her hand goes to her mouth again, to her still swollen and somewhat sore lip, and the motion pulls Gibbs' eyes with it. He stares at the injury and she can see his jaw tighten.

"It's okay," she lies. "It doesn't hurt."

He takes in a hissing breath through his teeth, and clearly doesn't believe a word of it. "You should've put some ice on that."

She doesn't point out she's been icing it on and off for hours - nor that it was actually Ari who initially cleaned it up. At least suggesting she ice it shows a certain degree of giving a shit, and she doesn't want to flip him back from caring to being pissed by mentioning the cause of today's drama.

She runs her tongue along her lip, inside her mouth. She will have a mark for a while, she's sure, and she's equally sure that every time Gibbs sees it, his face will harden with fury. Regardless of who is protecting his ass, she doesn't envy Ari Haswari. No one touches Gibbs' team and gets away with it forever, of that she's certain. One day Gibbs will get his revenge, and it won't be pretty, and Ari probably won't live to tell the tale.

There's a certain comfort that comes with knowing this man would kill for her without hesitation if he felt circumstances warranted it, a very non-fuzzy, not at all fluffy kind of comfort she truly appreciates, which probably explains why at this point she chooses to turn towards him slightly and lets herself collapse gently against him, her head tucking in under his chin.

His grunt of surprise makes her grin into his chest. She half expects him to scarper, traumatised by this most untoward intimacy, but he doesn't, doesn't even push her away.

Instead he steals her bottle from her hand and downs a swig of her beer. She'd protest, but she wasn't really enjoying it anyway. Then his arm slips quietly around her waist and his fingers dig into her side, and she lets her eyes close and takes her first deep breath since lunchtime and Ari and a car full of terrorists. It smells of beer and Gibbs and it's an oddly comforting combination. She didn't know she needed him to make her feel safe till he did it without even trying.

Eventually he speaks again. "I shot him."

There's a pause, a moment of stillness and silence while she tries to figure out what he means. "You shot... who?"

"Ari."

She blinks her eyes open and studies the wood of the porch railing as if it will explain the mysteries of the universe and Gibbs.

(She's not sure which needs more explanation.)

"But... the other agencies, they-"

"Didn't say I killed him."

She's oddly disappointed. "Oh."

"Blew his shoulder out."

"Oh."

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Kate turns this information over and over in her mind.

"Still, weren't they pissed?"

He shrugs. "Don't care."

"Oh." She's not really holding up her end of the conversation, which is mildly amusing given who she's talking with, but she doesn't know what to say, isn't even sure why he's telling her this. Isn't sure if he did it for her, for revenge, for Gerald, for himself. Ari does have his pick of enemies at NCIS after all. She isn't the only one who's gotten caught in his crosshairs.

Without really knowing why, she reaches up to touch Gibbs' shoulder, where Ari's bullet caught him, lays her hand over the scar she's sure is there under the layers of clothing. She wants to say thank you, but it's too presumptuous, too much like she's assuming he was avenging her split lip rather than the bullets he and Gerald took. Instead she simply closes her eyes and lets herself take a few more breaths of Gibbs-scented air.

After another moment he sighs, and she smiles again when his cheek comes to rest on top of her head. He's solid and strong and comfortable and she trusts him with her life on a daily basis, and right now he's the rock she hadn't realised she wanted. Relaxing against him is as natural as breathing, and she lets herself drift, lets the tension leak out and away and off of her.

It takes a while for her to consciously process the fact he's moved closer, that instead of gradually pulling back from this strange intimacy, he's curling around her protectively, possessively, and she can feel it in his chest when he heaves another sigh and tucks her still more tightly to his body.

She could discount the way his hand is idly running up and down her ribcage as mere absentmindedness, but it's harder to ignore when he presses his face into her hair, takes a deep breath and then lets it out with a shudder and a low rumble, ragged and raw.

When his fingers brush the side of her breast and his mouth is open against her temple, when his other hand comes to rest on her thigh, hard to ignore becomes impossible to ignore. Although part of her just wants to climb into his lap, she's not sure whether her willing participation in potentially detonating a bomb in their professional relationship would bode well for her long term mental health.

He moves painfully slowly down her face, not kissing her, not exactly, more like he's breathing her in and learning the shape of her cheek and her jaw and her ear with his mouth, and his nose is nuzzling into her skin, and the sound he makes is like she's doing something significantly more sexual than simply sitting next to him and not pushing him away.

It's... very hot.

"What are you doing?" It whispers out of her, breathy and gasping, and she'd meant it to be sharp but _God_ , his lips are on her neck and he's tasting her and _smelling_ her and touching her like he can't quite get enough, and yes, she's not entirely immune to charm and mischievous blue eyes and a gravelly tone, of _course_ she's thought about it, more than once, wondered and wished, but she'd never quite put Gibbs in the 'utterly, dangerously irresistible' column till now, and it's unexpected and confusing and _really really turning her on._

He tugs at her messy ponytail till her hair comes loose, and then he's burying his hands in it, tangling his fingers in it, his little groan as he pulls her head back and plants a kiss on her throat not at all subtle. "What are you _doing_ , Gibbs?"

He chuckles, and when he speaks again his lips are moving against her pulse point, so delicate, so soft on her skin, and part of her is dissolving into a puddle.

"What does it seem like I'm doing, Kate?"

He sounds amused. If he hadn't already chased her eyes closed with his hands on her body, his mouth on her neck, she'd roll them. _Cheeky bastard._

She doesn't want him to stop, but she also doesn't want to wake up tomorrow morning and find he can't look at her any more. If she'd thought there was any way of having Gibbs as both coworker and lover, she would have turned up at his house months ago in nothing except a coat and a smile. She's always been under the impression it wasn't an option.

She's resisting - just barely - the temptation to reach out and reciprocate; willing, so very willing, but scared of the consequences.

"Touching me." If she says it out loud, does it make it more real? Will he suddenly remember this is against his rules? And does she want him to remember that or not? "Uh-hm. Coming on to me."

"Enjoying it, too." He pauses. "How 'bout you?"

She hums noncommittally. "Haven't decided yet." She's fairly sure this lie is just as transparent as the earlier one was. He laughs again and her hands clench around the edge of the step she's sitting on, because if she doesn't consciously stop them, they're either going to hit him or start ripping his clothing off.

He hums himself, as if he's considering her answer, and then he's on the offensive again, and the most charitable word to describe the sound she makes when his fingers push up under her top would be 'whimper'. It's a desperate, desperately needy sound which she might be embarrassed about if she had enough brain cells to spare to entertain the emotion. He laughs and his teeth nip at the top of her shoulder, and she wouldn't have though it possible, but the next noise that comes out of her throat is even less in control. Now his hand is on her back, warm and strong and firm, moving slow and deliberate over her skin, and he's not making any attempt to act like this is anything other than a seduction. One that, if she's honest, seems likely to be successful.

 _Would that be so bad?_ It's difficult to worry about what's sensible and right. It's not even a case of being inebriated and unable to take responsibility. Between them they've barely made it through one bottle of beer, but his hands and mouth are making her feel drunk and high, and she hasn't really touched him yet, not in _that_ way, they haven't even really kissed. But oh, she wants to. He's mouthing his way back up her neck again, his fingers slide teasingly over her spine, his other hand is entwined in her hair, and the noises _he's_ making are no more calm or collected than hers.

It's becoming harder and harder to keep any sort of hold on common sense, and she _can't_ let this implode.

"Gibbs." He nods vaguely and nibbles on her ear. "Gibbs!"

"Yeah?" He sounds breathy and needy and all the things she never knew she could make him feel, and his eyes are half closed when he looks at her, bedroom eyes, full of promise.

"I-" Ugh, the problem is, despite the questions the logical side of her brain is insisting she gets answers to before this goes any further, the rest of her doesn't even care if they find a bed. "Is this... is this a good idea?" Her body is screaming at her, _of course_ this is a good idea, why isn't she pushing him down on the boards of the porch and climbing on top, but she cares far too much to assume anything at this point, and so she tries desperately to keep a hold on herself. "I don't- I mean..."

"Feels like a damn good idea."

He says it rough and deep, and his fingers are playing teasingly with the back of her bra, as if at the slightest encouragement he'll undo it, slide it off over her head along with her top, leave her half naked and his for the taking.

She'd be terribly okay with that.

"The real question is-" his voice softens and warms "-do you want to?"

If he hasn't already figured out she wants to, he's not as intelligent as she thought he was. It doesn't quell any of her fears about what happens if they do this and then everything falls apart.

She opens her mouth and can't find any words of her own, can't figure out how to ask if he really believes this isn't the most terrible idea anyone's ever had, so she falls back on his words instead.

"Rule 12..."

"Rules can be broken." His mouth is on her neck again, not biting or kissing, just resting against her skin, and she can feel his breath and the movement of his lips as he speaks.

He'd break a rule for her? That's... flattering and attractive and makes her dissolve a little more, but-

"Romance between agents..."

" _Kate_."

She doesn't know how he manages to inject so much into one syllable. Desire, longing, deep, honeyed want. An edge of desperation. His hand is plucking at her bra straps, as if he's just barely restraining himself from tearing at her clothes, and unfortunately for her common sense, she really, _really_ wants him to. And his lips are still moving, still wearing down her defences.

She takes a deep, deliberate breath, lets it out, takes another. "I don't-" God, he's making it so hard for her to _think_ , never mind talk. She tries again. "I don't want-"

He stills completely, and then he's pulling away like he's been burnt, and she reaches for him, unwilling to let him go.

"Kate, if you don't... want to..." He shrugs, not meeting her eyes, sitting up straight, turning away from her a little. If she didn't know Gibbs as well as she does, she might think he didn't care, that this was no big deal, but she is familiar enough with the man to see when he's... _wounded_. When he's trying to backtrack, thinks he's misread the situation, thinks he's overstepped. When he's trying to do damage control, for their relationship, for his own sanity.

She scoots closer, puts a hand up to touch his face, make him look back at her. "I didn't say that, Gibbs." She shakes her head. "I _didn't_. You didn't let me finish."

He blinks slowly, his expression still guarded and wary. There's a question in his eyes, even if it doesn't make it out of his mouth.

"I-" Damn, whatever she says is going to come out wrong. "I want... but only- look, I don't want you to end up regretting me, okay? I don't want to- to lose you." The sentence is hard to finish. She hadn't quite meant to put it so baldly, to lay herself bare, but it's true. If the choice is one night, it's no choice at all.

He's searching her face, searching for the truth.

"I do want you. That's- you know I can't... I'm not _lying_ to you, Gibbs." His eyes return to hers, and he still looks sceptical, but he is at least listening, and she's sure he'll see it in her expression if he'll let himself. "I know you can tell, Gibbs. I _know_ you know I'm telling the truth. I want you, but not if it's going to wreck everything." Her voice is cracking.

He blinks once, slowly. "Katie... you can't- lose me." He shrugs, his smile rueful, and reaches out to brush his fingertips over her cheek. "Won't let you."

She leans into his touch, can't help it, and then he's leaning towards her too and finally he's no longer teasing her and his lips are on hers at last, gentle, mindful of her injury, but still insistent and tender. She _melts_ and it's all too much and too good and screw everything that says kissing each other is the most stupid thing either of them has ever done, because this... this is what she wants.

She kisses him like she's got something to prove, like this might be the last time, just in case he has a sudden attack of reason and stops this before it can go any further, just in case the hand in her hair and the one pulling her body close, pulling her into his lap, are a fluke.

Miraculously, he kisses her back, sucks on her undamaged lip, tilts her head so he can explore her mouth slowly and tenderly and thoroughly, and his thigh is between her legs and the way he's grabbing her ass suggests he's not about to go all sensible on her.

When they surface, she's flushed, heated all over, tingling, and she is sure her eyes are as dark and inviting as his. It takes her a while to get her breathing enough under control to speak, and his fingers on her skin, stroking slowly from her waist to her shoulders and then back again, don't help in the slightest.

She's quite all right with having her voice stolen this way.

Eventually she thinks she can manage a sentence. Maybe. As long as it's a short one. "So... the rules?"

"Don't care about the rules." He shakes his head and wraps his arms around her, pulling her even closer. "Coulda lost you today, Kate. Made me... made me realise a couple things."

"Yeah?"

"Yup." He's inches away from her face, and she can see his attention moving from her eyes to her mouth to her cheeks, inspecting her closely, before dropping a light, oh-so-soft kiss by the split on her lip. She's never seen this expression on his face before, aimed at _anybody_. It's surreal and wonderful and mind-blowing.

"So... what did you realise?"

He rolls his eyes, as she'd known he would, and then his wandering gaze is on her mouth again and he starts talking, which she did _not_ expect.

"That you're beautiful, and smart, and... amazing. And I want you." He shrugs. "And I'd be a fool to let you go without a fight."

He looks up at her again, and she smiles slow and full, and his eyes are bright and crinkled as he smiles back and she can't help but lean in to kiss his cheek and wrap her arms around his neck.

"Okay. Okay then."

"Good." His voice in her ear is rich with laughter and promise. "So, Katie..." He lets the pause stretch out till she's ready to hurt him. "You wanna take this inside?"

She nods and giggles - _giggles!_ \- and wonders how he makes her feel like this. And then as he gathers her up to take her indoors, into his home, into his bed, she decides that, actually, she really doesn't care. Just as long as he never stops.

 _~ fin ~_


End file.
